Cravings

Rain. 

I find myself craving it more and more. I catch myself scrolling through Portland weather and dreaming of their downpours. I think it's unhealthy. 

The gentle rain that mists, tickles your nose, causes you to giggle and look to the clouds, to stop and notice, and maybe even form those frizzy curls at the tips of your hair. The silence during this rain is powerful. It's the silence that hits you down deep in those places we don't know of until we've felt it. It's the silence that reminds you how small you are. The wind seems out of place in it. The stillness. It's the silence that is loud. Have you heard it? Get lost in it. Get lost in those moments. It's magical. 

The shower rain. The more then kissing sprinkles on your cheeks,  but a gentle organized rain. Almost like an orchestra. It falls neatly, it claps loudly, puddles form, it crescendos and decrescendos then without warning it ceases, as though a conductor were actually there directing it's cues, parts, and lines. Dripping is heard for hours from gutters even after the down pour ends. It's aftermath is felt. This is the one I often do not noticed. This is the day to day. The monotony. The daily grind we so call it and get sick of. Do you forget sometimes to see the beauty in it too? Don't lose it. This rain is still good. 

The pour. There's nothing like the pour. You sometimes see the clouds forming. You smell the air changing. But most of the time it comes without warning. It comes when you least expect it.  It's big, in your face stormy rain. You squint your eyes, you're dripping head to toe, sloshed. All you can dream of is that romantic kiss you've seen in movies where everything is perfect as they passionately embrace each other and they no longer even notice the rain.  That warm cup of coffee. That fireplace. A good book. When you run in this rain, you feel Unstoppable. You squint away the rain, but it's as though your body has absorbed the energy of this. You can't get enough. You push forward. Nothing hurts. Nothing is tired. You don't notice anything but your heart racing and your breathing in sync with your steps. But then you stop. When you stop, it's shivers and weight and sticky clothes. It whips you in the face, your hair looks like a fresh shower, and your clothes have never felt heavier. You're chilled deep to the bone and only hot showers can cure this kind of thing. You've had quite the journey and it was good for the soul. It's euphoric. But it's over and it's end is felt even deeper. 

I think to me the rains have it down. They show us how to remember.... From The simple gentle memories. The little things. The kissing sprinkles. To the down pours of love, laughter, joy, happiness, success. Where life just couldn't get any better. The moments we depend on when the orchestra rains flood in and seem to make us feel unimportant or full of doubt. The filler.  Don't ever forget the little rains or downpours even in those days.  Soak them up. smile at them. Create them. Cling to them. 

"What good is the warmth of summer with the cold of winter to give it sweetness" 

   -Mr. Steinbeck

Seeds and seasons

My pen became silent. It stopped writing, flowing, and describing what I saw and the stories my head created. I look at the posts from a year ago on this Blog. A year of change, reflection, laughter, love, tears, heartache in those deep places you don't know about until you've woken up in the morning and felt the pain come rushing forward as though it had been waiting for you to wake back up. 

But, Then the year transformed. 2013 was the year I learned Genieva. I learned I was stronger than I thought. I learned that I could find myself in the craziest things, like lying alone on the floor in bookstores getting lost in the words of Steinbeck, Hemmingway, Wilde, and Dahl.  I learned it can be a treat to spend time alone. Real alone, where all you can hear are your still thoughts and the wind through the trees or the man playing his banjo. That real is good. Real, vulnerable, free flowing is good. Never hide it. I learned about seasons and stories. Seasons come and we think those dry ones are the unfair ones where we plead why? Why another season? You then realize that just like the soil on this big earth, we don't see during the winter what it's doing. We don't the way the soil is resting and the seeds are rebuilding. They are preparing for something big. Something beautiful. That's our seasons. 

I learned to jump into those seasons ready to ask what? What is next? Then it shows. You see it like a connect the dot puzzle where the picture slowly forms before you and even when you think you know what it is, that last dot transforms it once more. I saw the jobs unfold, the people come in to my life, the memories, the laughter, the learning of myself, and so much more. 

2013 was one of my wildest years. It was one of my lowest yet my highest. It was revealing. It was bold. It was a monumental one. I wish I documented more. I wish my pen didn't become still. 2014 is a new seed of a year...My pen won't be still.